


love is in the air

by keptein



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Selective Muteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: The sun is almost at the horizon. Under Koutarou’s feet, there is a blanket of fluffy pink, clouds intermingling to create red valleys and yellow mountains. He is sitting with Keiji at the edge of the floating island, at the western outpost where no one goes. Keiji keeps looking down at the miles of open air below them, the soft colours painting their face in wonder. They look like they miss the ground. Koutarou has never seen the ground, but it doesn’t sound like a concept he would care for. “You still won’t give me your cloak,” they say, as if they already know the answer.Koutarou is a young owl, mistreated and lost in his village. In the distance, war is approaching, led by pirates - but when Koutarou meets Keiji, a pirate who wants his owl cloak, they're nothing like the fearsome war machines he has heard of.





	love is in the air

**Author's Note:**

> the concept and location of vellie is from [owlboy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Owlboy), an excellent video game. this fic has mild spoilers for the owlboy backstory, but that's all. akaashi has no concept of gender, and uses they/them pronouns. bokuto is selectively mute (from anxiety). thank you to raleigh for holding my hand, stroking my hair and profreading (not at the same time).

The sun is almost at the horizon. Under Koutarou’s feet, there is a blanket of fluffy pink, clouds intermingling to create red valleys and yellow mountains. He is sitting with Keiji at the edge of the floating island, at the western outpost where no one goes. Keiji keeps looking down at the miles of open air below them, the soft colours painting their face in wonder. They look like they miss the ground. Koutarou has never seen the ground, but it doesn’t sound like a concept he would care for. “You still won’t give me your cloak,” they say, as if they already know the answer.

“No,” Koutarou says, pulling his owl cloak tighter around him. With night comes the chill, and while his bed is warm and waiting, he doesn’t want to leave Keiji yet.

“You don’t know what will happen.”

Koutarou shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“Is it not your duty to protect this village, owl?” Keiji asks. When they lift their head, the wide brim of their pirate hat shields their face from the light. Keiji doesn’t look like a man or a woman; when Koutarou asked, they said they were neither.

“My name’s Koutarou,” Koutarou says, frowning.

“That’s not what the others call you.”

Koutarou’s mouth twists and he looks back down at the clouds, away from Keiji’s hidden face. “No.”

Keiji sighs, looking out. There are no more islands beyond this point, just air and air and air. “If you won’t give me your cloak,” they say slowly, “will you fly for me?”

Koutarou nods and smiles, standing up. He spreads his arms, cloak billowing out, and turns so his back is against the open expanse, and then he takes a step backwards, letting himself fall. Keiji’s gasp is the last thing he hears as he spirals downward, enjoying the theatrics as he falls through cloud after cloud, and then he lets the air lift him back up, flapping the great wings of his cloak until he’s back in front of Keiji, hovering just out of reach and grinning. “What do you want me to do?”

Koutarou’s shadow falls over Keiji’s face, and they look up at him with a soft smile. “Whatever you want,” they say, and Koutarou laughs, doing a somersault in the air and flying in circles around them.

“I can carry you, you know!” he says, because he could, but Keiji shakes his head - Koutarou sees it in flashes as he spins, delighting in the cold air rushing over his face.

“I’m too heavy,” they call back, and Koutarou accepts it with another laugh, throwing his body sideways across the ground of the small island, fingertips running along the earth and his other hand pointing up towards the endless sky.

Flying is freedom. He can’t give up his cloak, not even for Vellie; he’d be a caged bird, lost and alone and unable to escape. He can’t give up his cloak, because Keiji would never come back.

The cold begins to seep into his bones as he flies, tumbling through the clouds and showing off for his audience. He slows to a stop and settles back on the ground next to Keiji, shivering lightly.

“Thank you for the show,” Keiji says, still smiling. The sun is gone now, remnants of dusk and the moonlight tracing silver patterns in their hair as they take their hat off.

“You’re welcome,” Koutarou replies through chattering teeth. Now that he’s sitting down, the night chill is truly taking its toll on him, and he wishes he’d brought some tea. He never knows how long Keiji will stay, so he didn’t think… 

Keiji cocks his head. “Are you cold?”

“Of c-course,” Koutarou says, “aren’t you?”

“I don’t get cold.” Keiji opens his coat, gesturing for Koutarou to squeeze in under his shoulder.

Koutarou hesitates for a moment, looking towards the cluster of floating islands that make up the village. Soon, it’ll be so dark only the owls can see, and Washijou rarely bothers to check on Koutarou when he’s been given the midnight watch. Keiji ruffles their coat lightly, inviting him, and slowly and precariously, Koutarou shifts over the ground to sit next to them, side pressed against Keiji. They’re warm, like the outside of Koutarou’s oven when he bakes bread, and he exhales at the feeling, involuntarily moving closer. “How come…? How come you don’t get cold?”

“Pirates don’t get cold,” Keiji says softly. Koutarou feels impossibly young in this warm half-embrace, like an owlet seeking shelter, intimate and vulnerable.

“Oh,” Koutarou replies, just as quietly. “I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

Koutarou imagines a faint pressure against his forehead, like lips press against it for just a second, but he knows it is just fantasy. He drapes his cloak over their legs. He trusts Keiji not to pull it off him; he doubts they could, even if they wanted. “Yeah,” he agrees, a murmur in the night. “Yeah.”

*

Koutarou doesn’t really believe Keiji when they say there will be war. It seems so far fetched, that anything could happen to this small, peaceful cluster of islands. Koutarou has been taught the concepts of war by his mentor, but he still can’t believe that anything like that will happen. He struggles to believe that that kind of evil has even happened at all.

“Oi! Mute! Not speaking today either, eh? Y’know, some day Washijou is gonna get so sick of you, he’s gonna rip your cloak off and push you over the edge!” Mizoguchi’s two students are flapping their wings at him, calling after Koutarou as he jumps off the edge and flies down to the island below. He curls in on himself there, covering his ears. The students and their mentors are all meeting at the same place today, and as soon as Washijou arrives, Mizoguchi’s students will stop - but for now, they are relentless in their taunting. Koutarou strokes the feathers on his temples rhythmically, counting. As soon as Washijou is there, Mizoguchi’s students will fall quiet. Koutarou can fly back up as soon as Washijou is there.

*

“Hear that, Koutarou?” Washijou asks. They are flying west, further than Koutarou has ever been. The dawn light is slowly waking up the clouds, but Washijou’s figure in the air is one of perpetual night, stark disapproval painting his features in shadow.

Koutarou nods.

“Those are cannons,” Washijou says. He slows to a stop, hovering in the air. There is no ground, and Koutarou’s wings are hurting. They’d set out in the black of night, and he didn’t have time to get properly dressed before Washijou forced him out. Now, the chill is burrowing into his hollow bones, worsening the strain of flight. “They belong to pirate ships.”

Koutarou’s eyebrows raise, and for a moment he forgets to fly, descending until he rights himself and flaps back up to just below Washijou. Could Keiji be down there? Could they be in danger… or the cause of it?

“Pirates are evil,” Washijou continues. “They hunt our kind. As protectors, it is our duty to keep them away from Vellie.”

Koutarou’s head cocks, looking questioning.

“Pirates were cursed never to fly. So they built huge, ugly abominations, machines of destruction that can take to the air. But they envy us who can fly without aid, and they will not rest until our kind is eradicated.”

Koutarou looks at Washijou’s cloak. Just like Koutarou, Washijou cannot fly without his cloak - neither of them are like the true owls of old, who had real wings of their own, and could truly fly whenever they wished.

Washijou must catch the meaning behind Koutarou’s gaze, because he snaps, “Do not be so insolent, child! Have you no respect?”

Koutarou curls in on himself in apology, struggling to stay afloat. He can hear the boom and bellow of cannons beneath his feet. His shoulders are aching so painfully. If he fell right here, like this, would Keiji be waiting under the cloud cover? Would they catch him?

“I see that you are still weak,” Washijou says. There is no sympathy in his voice. “You need to improve your stamina, Koutarou, or you’ll stay a worthless excuse of an owl forever.”

Koutarou nods, swallowing.

“If Vellie falls under attack, we are the first line of defense. Do you want to be useless? Or do you want to earn the cloak on your back, for once?”

Koutarou shakes his head and then nods, unsure how to reply. He can’t speak - not with Washijou.

Washijou sighs, disappointment colder than the icy air around them. “That’ll have to do,” he says, and turns his back on Koutarou. “We’re flying back to Vellie. Try to keep up.”

*

He never calls for Keiji, and Keiji never calls for him; they just meet, sudden and overwhelming, like when it’s too dark to see and he collides into something while flying. 

At least, that’s how it is for him. There must be some premeditation on Keiji’s part, because Koutarou doesn’t think they meet with anyone else. Unless they’re trying to get the cloaks of Mizoguchi’s students too… the thought makes Koutarou’s stomach turn.

“Have you spoken to anyone else here?” he demands of Keiji the next time they meet, cloak billowing in the afternoon breeze. Washijou, exasperated by his incompetence, dismissed him early from his lessons for the day, and when Koutarou came to the southern point by his house to shed secret tears, Keiji was already waiting.

Keiji raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yes,” they say. “Once. It was… unpleasant.”

“Who did you speak to?” Koutarou presses.

“An owl,” Keiji says, “I don’t know their name. Nor do I care to.”

Koutarou swallows. The air feels lighter, thinner than usual, like he’s flown miles above what he can take. He’s not entitled to Keiji’s time - Keiji isn’t  _ his _ , not at all, and yet…

“They called you ‘mute’,” Keiji says, while Koutarou breathes steadily to keep his face dry. “The other owl. How come?”

Koutarou lands with a graceless thump, feet and knees hitting the soil. “You mentioned me?” he asks, at once elated and terrified.

Keiji pauses. “You came up,” they say finally, reluctance clear from the lowered line of their gaze. “Answer the question, please.”

“Oh -” Koutarou laughs as he gets to his feet, breathless. “I don’t talk.”

“You’re talking right now.”

“I  _ can _ , obviously, I just… don’t. Around the other owls, I - I freeze and feel like I can’t breathe, and they laugh at me anyway, so I don’t want to say anything. There’s, um, in the village, there’s a couple I can talk to, like, I’m not so anxious around everyone…”

“Not around me,” Keiji observes.

Koutarou falls quiet and nods, turning to look out across the open expanse of clouds and floating islands.

“Am I special?” Keiji asks.

Koutarou nods again. “Yes,” he says softly. He is scared to speak now, but it is a different fear than the bone-deep terror of speaking around Washijou or Mizoguchi. “I’m not afraid when I’m with you.”

Keiji smiles. It is a small, kind thing. Koutarou’s heart beats so fast, like wind rushing through a tunnel, like the beat of a drum. “I’m glad.”

Koutarou is in love with them. He knows this, as suddenly and as painlessly as the sun, soaking over his skin when he bursts through a layer of clouds. How can this be? How come no one told him that it was possible to feel this weightless, this gentle? “You’re wonderful,” he says quickly, breath stuttering out, and then he grins widely, beaming at them. “I like you a lot.”

“I like you too,” Keiji says, their long, black eyelashes lowering over their eyes. Koutarou watches them blink, entranced.

“You’re my best friend.”

He watches Keiji breathe. “I think you’re mine too,” they say finally, almost wondering. “I’ve never had one before.”

Koutarou sits down next to them, bumping their shoulders together. “Me neither,” he says cheerfully. “We’ll be each other’s firsts! First best friends,” he clarifies quickly. 

Keiji laughs. The sound dances along the clouds floating past, and Koutarou basks in it, closing his eyes and leaning into them. The stern reprimands from earlier feel like another lifetime, and Koutarou thinks for a second about Washijou’s poor fool of a student, certain that it can’t be him. He is too happy for it to be him. It must be someone else, some other clumsy mute. This Koutarou, the Koutarou that’s sitting next to Keiji in the sun… he is the only Koutarou that’s real.

*

He starts to seek Keiji out deliberately. When they’re apart, the clouds are dull and grey, but as soon as Koutarou sees them, his heart speeds up like a motor and the sky is reborn by all the colours of the rainbow.

He tells Keiji this, wings nervously fluttering. “Is that bad?” he asks. Koutarou knows the legends, of the owls of old who died of heartbreak if they lost their mate. It’s romantic, but so terribly so that Koutarou used to cry at night, sure he’d already lost his mate, sure that that was the cause of the bottomless sadness within him.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” Keiji says. Their hair obscures their face, but when they push it behind their ear, Koutarou can see that they’re smiling shyly. Immediately he relaxes, wings stilling. “It’s nice to hear. Does it bother you?”

“No - no,” Koutarou says quickly, and then he looks down, scuffing his shoes on the packed dirt that makes up the small island. “No, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t,” Keiji says. Their eyes linger on Koutarou’s feet, the nervous energy he’s trying to contain. “Will you fly for me?”

Koutarou looks up, guarded. “Already?” Usually, that is the last thing Keiji asks for before they leave, and Koutarou just got here, they can’t leave already.

“I’m not leaving,” Keiji reassures him. “I’d just like to see it.”

Koutarou exhales, relieved. “Okay.” He spreads his wings, letting them lift him off the ground, and he makes sure Keiji’s eyes are on him before he turns around and begins to fly.

It’s like the air rises to greet him, friendly and playful, and he can’t help but laugh as he tumbles through the clouds, circling the island Keiji is sitting on. He does a somersault, clumsy and imperfect, but his wings catch him immediately, letting him right himself in the air. He feels brave today, brave and happy, and all he needs is the wind under his wings and Keiji’s eyes on him, following him as he glides.

He lands smoothly on the ground next to Keiji, who’s smiling again, wider this time.

“That was amazing,” they say warmly, and Koutarou starts, freezing as he looks at them with wide eyes. The wind turns, cold and painful and all around him.

“What? No.”

“It was. You’re always a great flyer, but that was special.”

To his embarrassment, Koutarou feels his eyes begin to well up, and he wipes his face quickly. “I - you - that’s just ‘cause, ‘cause you haven’t seen the others… I’m a terrible flyer, everyone says so.”

“They’re wrong,” Keiji says, as if it’s that simple, as if the entire village could be wrong, just like that, as if Koutarou’s not the one that’s wrong.

“You can’t know that,” Koutarou says, voice shaking.

“I can. I’ve seen you fly, and I trust my own judgment.”

Koutarou scrubs over his face again, even though terrified tears have already begun to fall. He feels like he’s five, being told by Washijou that he will never rise above mediocrity, that he will have to strive to be useful as anything other than cannon fodder.

“Oh,” Keiji says softly, and they stand up, coming over to cup his face in their hands. “This is hard to hear?”

Koutarou nods, leaning into them and their warm palms. “No one’s ever said I was good at it before,” he mumbles, voice wet and quiet. “No one’s ever really said I’m good at anything.”

Keiji’s palms seem to heat up, and they step closer, silent for a long time. When they finally speak, their voice is low and urgent. “Let me take you away from here, Koutarou. Please.”

Koutarou inhales, looking at them with big eyes. “Leave…? I - I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because - because - who would water my plants…?”

“They can come with us,” Keiji says. “Everything you want.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Koutarou says, throat so tight that speaking is painful. “I - I can’t - I can’t, Keiji, I  _ can’t _ .” 

“Why not?” Keiji asks again, eyes intense as they search his gaze.

Koutarou breathes shallowly, staring back at them. How can he explain? Being here is safe, being sad is safe; being in love with Keiji from afar is safe. How can he explain that he is a boy made entirely of desire, the desire to hold their hand and wake up next to them? Even though there is a sweetness in not getting what he wants, he can only stand it as long as Keiji isn’t his whole world. “I can’t,” he says, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Keiji frowns, thumbs wiping away his tears. “I want to take you away, Koutarou.” They lean in, resting their forehead against his, and he closes his eyes in shame. “Tell me if you change your mind. I’m not going to.”

“Okay,” he whispers, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I will.”

*

Koutarou doesn’t see Keiji for the next few days. He checks all their usual places, waiting for hours. A rock leaves an imprint on his cheek when he falls asleep against it, but still there is no sign of Keiji.

The anxiety distracts him in his lessons with Washijou, who ends up dismissing him with an exasperated huff when Koutarou yet again fails to hover without flapping his wings. “Go home, cannon fodder,” Washijou tells him, and the insult stings, drilling through Koutarou.

Why did he want to stay here? What for? Why didn’t he go where he was wanted, even if it’s not in the way he desires?

So caught up is he in his own misery that he doesn’t notice the figure standing in front of his house until he crashes into them, tumbling over the edge of the island. He free falls for a second before his wings spread to catch him, righting him and helping him back to up to the tiny floating island. By now, the figure has gotten back on their feet, and the brim of their hat is unmistakable - even before Koutarou sees their face. “Keiji!”

“Koutarou, I -” Keiji starts, but they’re interrupted by Koutarou throwing himself at them, legs and arms wrapping tight around their body. His wings are extended, keeping some of his weight off Keiji’s frame, but after a second their hands stroke down his back, soothing the flapping. “I can carry you,” they say.

Koutarou presses his face into their neck, inhaling their scent of dust and oil. “I thought you’d left.”

“I did,” Keiji replies, bemused. “But I came back.”

Koutarou laughs wetly. “Well, I thought you wouldn’t. But I’m really happy you did.”

“Of course,” Koutarou says. They release Koutarou and he climbs off them, embarrassed now by his forwardness. “Can I come in?”

“In?” Koutarou squeaks and clears his throat. “To my - my house?”

Keiji gestures to the modest building they’re standing in front of. “This  _ is _ yours, isn’t it? You said you have plants - I want to see them.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says, and then he smiles, wide and brilliant. “Yeah. It’s messy, sorry, but come on in.” He leads the way to the house, holding the door open for Keiji. The interior is as humble as the outside, with a stove, a loft bed, and shelves full of books Koutarou hasn’t read. All the surfaces, including most of the floor, are covered in plants. There’s every kind of plant among them - small and dainty, big and leafy, floral, spiked - and they’re all in various stages of health, some brilliantly green while others are a sickly brown. “I don’t have anyone to ask about how to keep them,” Koutarou explains self-consciously while Keiji looks around, silent. “So I have to do it by trial and error. That’s why some of them are struggling. It’s going okay, though! No one’s died on me yet.” He strokes the leaf of a nearby plant, now dark green where it used to be ashen and pale - he only recently found the watering rhythm that suited it best, and it’s only gotten more gorgeous since.

Finally, Keiji speaks. “This is incredible,” they say softly, and even Koutarou can hear the awe in their voice. “I didn’t even know camellias could survive in the climate.”

“Camellias?” Koutarou asks, head tilted in confusion.

“This one,” Keiji says, pointing to a plant with a delicate, white flower tightly packed with petals. “You don’t even know their names?”

Koutarou shakes his head. “I don’t know anything, like I said,” he says. “I just pick them up off the wind or the ground, and then I take them home and try to help them grow.”

Keiji stares at him for a long moment. “You amaze me,” they say, and Koutarou bites his cheek, his tears from earlier threatening to reappear.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he mumbles, even though he’s so proud of it, so proud that the praise aches and settles under his skin, an eternal part of him now.

“It is.” Keiji turns back to the plants, tracing their leaves tenderly, as if they’re something new and foreign. “I… I have to be honest with you, Koutarou. I didn’t just come to see your plants.”

Koutarou’s eyes widen, shoulders drawing up to his ears as he wraps his cloak around him. Keiji watches him. It’s not often that their face gives away their emotions, but now their brow is furrowed, mouth a tense line.

“I need to tell you how the pirates came to be. Please, sit.”

Koutarou sits down on one of the small patches of flooring uncovered by plants. “I haven’t done anything wrong?” he asks timidly.

Keiji shakes their head. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s… about me.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Koutarou promises, relieved. “I’ll still like you.”

“You don’t know that,” Keiji says, sinking down onto another patch of free flooring. They clear their throat. “The owls of old had very advanced technology, as you know. Nothing like what you owls have today, they had… massive machines and powerful, complicated engines. Eventually, they decided to create robotic servants for themselves - first just to execute menial, daily tasks, but then these servants got more and more advanced, and they could take on bigger, more complex tasks. Many different kinds of servants were built, soldiers, craftsmen, painters, creators. The owls were fascinated by their potential, and they urged this technological evolution on, creating servants that became more and more like themselves, attaining something like personhood.”

Koutarou listens, enraptured.

“Then… as you know, the owls of old died out. The servants were left without masters to serve. Some of them, soldiers who had been made to fight in wars they had no stake in, harboured intense resentment against their old masters, and wished to obliterate every trace of owlkind in the world. They could not fly, so they took to the skies in massive ships.”

“Like yours?” Koutarou asks.

Keiji nods. “Like mine,” they say. “I am not organic. I’m… a machine. We all are - all the pirates.”

Koutarou gasps, jumping in surprise and awe, and Keiji flinches back, looking small and fearful. “That’s awesome!”

“That’s -” Keiji inhales. “Awesome?”

Koutarou nods, and then frowns. “Well, it’s not good that you were servants, but it’s… it means that - that you can’t die as easily, right? I’ve been really worried about you not being able to come back because you’re hurt. And this means that’s not as likely. So I’m happy!” He smiles widely at them.

Keiji is still frowning, but their mouth has relaxed. Koutarou considers it a win. “You don’t - you don’t mind?”

Koutarou shakes his head vigorously, drawing his knees up to rest his chin on them. “I just think you’re wonderful,” he says, a little self-conscious. “And no one’s ever… explained stuff to me like that before, you know? Just expecting that I understand. And it makes sense, even if it’s kind of terrifying… the owls of old are kind of terrifying. And I understand more, now, why the pirates are so mad. But I still don’t think it’s right to kill other people. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t think it’s right either,” Keiji says, pained. “Although I didn’t know that until I met you. So… thank you.”

Their eyes are soft and dark, and Koutarou wants to move across the floor and hug them tightly, but they may not want him to, so he stays where he is. “You’re welcome!”

Keiji sits back. Even their brow has relaxed now. “That’s why I want to run away,” they say. “This fight isn’t my fight, not anymore. I know there are places without war. I want to go there.”

Koutarou bites his lip, uncertain. He remembers what he’d thought during his lesson with Washijou - he has no reason to stay in Vellie, not really. Vellie hurts him more than it does him good, even though thinking of leaving it is hard. “Would I… could I still come with you?” he asks timidly.

Now it is Keiji’s turn to gape, a flush turning their dark skin darker - Koutarou has never been able to see it before, but under the artificial light of his house, it is clear that Keiji is blushing. “O-of course,” they stammer. “What made you change your mind?”

It’s hard to explain. Koutarou says so, talking about Washijou’s lessons until Keiji starts frowning again, and then he immediately retreats, unwilling to make them angry. “I - it’s still - I’m still, you know,” he says helplessly. “I’m still scared. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Keiji says. “I’ll be here.”

Koutarou inhales. It’s now or never - he can’t do this in good conscience, not with this secret weighing on him. “You said you’re a machine,” he says, “so maybe this is - maybe you don’t get this, or I shouldn’t tell you, but - I mean, I’ll get over it in time, I just didn’t want to keep it secret, but I - I think I’m in love with you. Well, not think, I  _ know _ , I know I’m in love with you.”

Keiji stares at him. Millions of years pass until they ask, “what does it feel like?”

Koutarou looks down at the floor, breathing deeply. “It’s like… the world is better, because you’re in it. And when we touch, it’s like - like a cannon, but good. It feels like… wanting to see you all the time, and k-kiss you, and tell you everything I’ve ever thought and experienced, and wanting to learn all that about you too.”

“Does it feel like flying?” Keiji asks, eyes intense. Koutarou can only meet their gaze for a moment efore he has to look down again, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But not as cold.”

“I don’t get cold,” Keiji says. “So I always imagined flying to be warm.” They nod, crisp and decisive. “Yes. You make me feel like I’m flying.”

Koutarou’s head shoots up, and he tries to keep his hopeful heart buried deep. “You mean…”

Keiji nods again, just as firmly. “I must be in love with you.”

Koutarou squeaks, blushing to the roots of his hair. “You - you don’t know that. You can’t even fly!”

“No, but -” Keiji starts, but then Koutarou is standing up and pulling them with him out of the house.

“I’m going to show you!” He brings them out onto the tiny bit of island outside his house, and flaps his wings to lift himself off the ground.

“This is silly,” Keiji says, but they’re smiling, and it does nothing to dissuade Koutarou. He reaches under their arms, wrapping his arms around their chest and lifting them up with a grunt, wings working hard to keep them both afloat. “Koutarou -”

He pays Keiji no mind, holding them tighter as he flies them around his house. They’re intensely heavy, and the wind resistance does nothing to cool the sweat that’s appearing on Koutarou’s face, but it’s still fun, and the noise of wonder and terror Keiji lets out when Koutarou holds them above the cloud cover is nothing short of amazing.

Koutarou only takes them off the island for a moment, worried about his own ability to hold them up, and quickly settles them back on the island floor, collapsing on his back as he pants. “Jeez, you weren’t kidding! You’re real heavy!”

“I told you,” Keiji laughs. Koutarou looks up to meet their eyes, bright and shining, and he grins in return, head falling back against the grass.

“Tired now.”

Keiji falls to their knees beside him. They begin to lean over him, so slowly that Koutarou has time to catch his breath and refuse them if he wished, but he does not do either. His breath is still fast and gulping when their lips meet.

Keiji’s lips are soft and warm, like the rest of them. Koutarou feels dizzy, and he reaches up to grip their shoulder tightly, holding them there even as they part again, Keiji still smiling softly as Koutarou looks at them in wonder.

“I like you more than I like flying,” they say.

Koutarou squeaks again, an embarrassing sound he’d never make in front of anyone else, and pulls them down to kiss them again, clumsy and amazing. He’s never kissed anyone before, and he knows he’ll never have to kiss anyone else ever again, because there’s no way it can beat this awkward, wonderful intimacy. “I maybe like you more than I like flying,” he mumbles into their lips, reluctant to pull away. “We’ll have to do this lots before I can decide.”

Keiji laughs, surprised, and Koutarou grins, kissing them again. They have so many things to talk about, and so many things to do, but right now, Koutarou wants to stay on this island floor and kiss Keiji until his lips fall off, until he’s nothing but love and air and feathers.

Like all things with Keiji, it won’t take long.

**Author's Note:**

> i recently remade my twitter for reasons, you can now find me at [lemonbrute](http://twitter.com/lemonbrute) or the same old [tumblr handle](http://tivruskis.tumblr.com).


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